Mizerable
by Playgirl Eugene
Summary: REWRITTEN! Between them, there’s always a fine line. But even then, does it matter anyway?
1. Prologue

**MIZERABLE**

**Author: **playgirl_eugene

**Pairing:** Fuji/Ryoma, Fuji/OC, OC/Ryoma, others for later

**Genre: **AU, drama, romance, slice-of-life

**Warning(s):** slash/yaoi/male x male, explicit sexual situations, dub-consensual

**Rating: **M/NC-18/R

**Disclaimer:** Prince of Tennis and all of the characters, including the original plot and situations, are created and owned by Konomi Takeshi-sensei. This fic is purely fictional and I do not earn profit of any kind and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Between them, there's always a fine line. But even then, does it matter anyway?

**Author Note: **Mizerable is one of the stories that I always have to revise again and again every time I re-read the whole thing just to dive in deeper to the character's thoughts because it's not easy, writing in first person. Anyway, not that much changes here, but there are a couple of one-liners that I slipped in just to make Ryoma's thoughts a little more… uh, humorous.

**- x - x - x -**

**Prologue:** _"__It'd be way easier if you were though…"_

* * *

_I always thought that Fuji-senpai was… strong._

_Until I found out that he was more "smart" than "strong."_

**- x – x – x –**

So yeah. Sometimes, people would ask me, _what do I think about Fuji Shusuke?_

Well, none of their fucking business.

Or at least, it was true that my opinion of him was none of their business, the fact remained that I really didn't know (no, I was not about to tell them that either). I've never given much thought about it before, not until recently. And it _still_ wasn't their business, was it?

To the people around him, Fuji Shusuke might have been a "classified situation," maybe even a phenomenon. Like natural disaster. Some people adore him, some don't. There was that (jealousy that is) but then, there was hate as well.

He was a natural born talent, _a __tensai._

But then again, so was I.

When it started, he was someone who just happened to be there. He was always around, but nothing more than that.

That was until buchou made us fight it out like school girls that rainy day. And something between us changed, sparked, awakened. Whatever. I didn't know if I like it or not though.

To me, Fuji-senpai was a decent opponent and someone I'd call senpai and actually mean it _(some_ seniors just didn't act the parts).

I guess, looking back now, there were some things similar between us. We had unhealthy egos, for one. We both had something to do that we didn't really wanted to, but we dealt with pressure differently. I did it with lots of tennis, lots of snarking and lots of harassing my senpai-tachi for free burgers.

Him, he did it with indifferent smiles and channelling his leftover energy into the art of torturing people for fun. Hmm. Evil.

We were not exactly oil and water because I probably should say something more fitting like _tennis and rain._ No, I didn't mean it as a pun.

So, when Fuji-senpai kind of… bounced on me a few days after our match, I was _scared._ No, I didn't even care about my pride anymore.

"_Nee, Echizen-chaaaan! Let's warm up together, ne?"_

He sounded, uh not so sane.

Granted, not exactly _Inui-senpai insane,_ but he was still that: mentally unhimged and close enough really. That was saying something because Inui-senpai brought the word to a whole new level when he was trying to turn us, unfortunate souls, into his lab rats. And then, Inui-senpai was reunited with his childhood friend.

Now _their talk_ was creepy.

They called it "scientific discussion." I called for _bullshit_ because "doctor" and "professor" must be some kind of bedroom kinks and safewords and all those huge words must be some kind of verbal foreplay (I ended up getting reprimanded by a mortified Oishi-senpai for "Language, Echizen!"), while Kikumaru-senpai folded his arms and sagely muttered something like, it was _hormones_ and mentioned something about some river in Egypt.

In my humble opinion, I thought Kaidou-senpai and Inui-senpai had something going on. There _had_ to be some reason why Kaidou-senpai's morning jog passed Inui-senpai's house _twice._ Inui-senpai crossed me as the sadistic type and something about Kaidou-senpai just rubbed that instinct. They gave off the feeling of "rawr, eww, horny."

Something like that. I was too lazy to make much sense.

Kikumaru-senpai, Momo-senpai, and the three guys from my year, the ladies, the usual, were excited with the prospect of a hot, forbidden, steamy love triangle (the _fuck_ was that) like it was Hollywood's front page headline.

Buchou seemed pissed, always giving them laps whenever. People would normally think that he was upset with their slacking off, I'd personally bet it was because he was still sore with that little incident when _his_ affair with a certain king of monkey was outted to the public like a buy-three-for-ten announcement at open-spree fish market.

I heard it from Momo-senpai, who heard from Kikumaru-senpai, who heard from Horio, who heard it from that noisy Oka-female-something, who heard it from some "reliable resources" from Hyoutei, who heard it from the tensai of Hyoutei, who heard it from the saru-sama himself that they were dating.

_They were dating._

I had always taken buchou as tennis-sexual. How did he ended up with stupid saru-sama, I'd never know. I didn't think saru-sama was even evolved enough to understand that they were not the same species and could have sex; buchou was questionably human, him not so much. And no, I never _wanted_ to know either.

It shattered my delicate childhood dream and I liked to think it made me vulnerable.

And I was getting sidetracked again. So, Fuji-senpai and his apparent attempt of being friendly.

Back then, I was closer to Momo-senpai and Kikumaru-senpai, he was closer to Kawamura-senpai and maybe even buchou.

We weren't exactly enemies, or even rivals. But we were just never close. He was a third-year and we were fine playing the amicable-strangers-working-in-somewhat-close-contact part. We never felt the need to make small talks—unless it involved something important, like tennis—and mostly because we didn't talk much in normal human capacity (okay, so he was mostly quiet in that diabolical, evil-genius-plotting-to-world-domination kind of way and I always made someone or two dozen feeling murderous when I opened my mouth, so) we had that unspoken agreement of peace between us.

Not that I didn't like him. I voted for neutrality. You know, like how America adopted Lend-Lease act for neutrality in World War II? Yeah, something like that. I felt like bombing something. Or just overall homicidal.

Fuji-senpai was just weird. He looked like a fox and his smile, the one that looked like a permanent facial dent on his face, made him look even more _suspicious,_ like he was permanently up to something no good.

I didn't like his smile (because hate was a strong word for someone I didn't know that well), maybe because I hate cheery, pretentious people in general and I could never guess what he was thinking inside that messed up place he called mind.

Fuji-senpai had… habits. They were not particularly, uh disturbing. I'd say dainty_,_ but even that wasn't quite right. Fuji-senpai had always been kind of girly for a straight guy. His otouto's so-called boyfriend (otouto-kun said no, but whatever) screamed _gay_ in huge, bold letters. Compared to that creep in faux-drag, I settled with dainty for Fuji-senpai.

At least, Fuji-senpai would make a vaguely pretty girl.

Being around him for a while, even someone as thick as Momo-senpai would start to pick up things, like how his fingers would touch his lower lip when he laughed behind his hand or the way he tugged his hair behind his left ear, or the way he titled his head with that incorrigible tainted innocence he often displayed.

Fuji-senpai must've used a woman's shampoo, maybe his mother's or his sister's, or his girlfriend's. His hair was way too pretty. And he always smelled nice, like baby powder and clean soap. That was definitely not how most boys his age should smell like after being the mercy end of buchou's and Inui-senpai's combined training programs.

Long story short, this person had reached some levels of understanding with me. He was a decent opponent when we did play occasionally and he was never too noisy or meddlesome. Things were super fine and dandy.

At least, _I_ was fine with ignoring him unless we were doing something important (like, a game match or if he offered to buy me lunch).

Outside the court, Fuji-senpai was almost, well… normal. Normal in a way a sociopath went bone collecting kind of normal. That was something odd in this dysfunctional community that made Seigaku tennis team. He was polite, soft-spoken, helpful even, never mind that his tennis game made me think about S and M porno.

I had seen how some people just overshadowed him. Take buchou for example, then saru no taichou. There was that girly looking captain from Rikkai.

Bandage boy.

Fuji-senpai was kind of easy to miss in the crowd. He might keep the attention when he got it, but really, when saru-sama strutted the way he did in purple and pink, Fuji-senpai just didn't stand a chance.

He blended in easy, not too tall or too intimidating in appearance, not too loud, not anything actually. Somehow, I felt a little disappointed. Fuji-senpai was kind of boring.

That was, until _that_ day.

**- x – x – x –**

People had called me all different kinds of genius in my life. They called me all sorts of teasing bastard too, but I didn't care about that, did I?

They assumed that _birds of a feather flocked together_ and shit (not so sure about Fuji-senpai, but I was _not_ a bird and I did not flock or act feathery in any way), so they thought that asking _me_ would help make sense of Fuji Shusuke. Ceh, some people.

But for someone to understand the inner working of Fuji-senpai's mind, someone had to be obnoxious, twisted _and_ diabolically genius. Honestly, I didn't think I was _that_ smart—no, the right world would be mentally degraded.

That being said, it made sense that the reason why he suddenly decided that it was a good idea to came on me during morning practice and acted as if I was his fidus Achates or something equally senseless and mushy, was completely out of me.

He looked so goddamned happy, I knew someone slipped him too much sugar. Well, either that or he had gotten laid. Not that I wanted to know about my senpai's sex life at twelve, but you couldn't live with Echizen Nanjirou without being sexually and emotionally harassed on a daily basis and by the way, I was so going to tell mom that he had been teaching me, uh bad words.

And show me bad, bad pictures. Hah!

Anyway, Fuji-senpai used to call me Echizen-kun, but that day he didn't. Much as I became used to the many bundles of rainbow-vomit and sunshine that littered the place since I returned to Japan, I was never comfortable with nicknames that suggested something offending about my height and my face.

It was a little different when Kikumaru-senpai gave me stupid nicknames (I was pretty sure Kikumaru-senpai was not really sub-human species, not really meaning he was half-might-be) when Fuji-senpai did. I felt ten times more annoyed and insulted.

I tried the ignore tactic. Apparently, it didn't sit well with him. It might be just be, but I felt like he was trying to make a point by calling me with that stupid, humiliating nickname, drawing out the "aa" like he was trying to annoy me.

Could I kill him and throw his body without buchou knowing? If I did it, buchou would probably make me run laps until I lose my leg or both because Fuji was an important member of the team and we were going to the nationals after all.

But I think buchou wanted do it himself sometimes. I mean, judging by the unhealthy amount of veins popping every time Fuji-senpai did _something_, he might or might not have wanted to strangle Fuji-senpai or just make him run laps until next apocalypse.

I remembered that one time when Fuji-senpai sprained his wrist after he went hiking (who the hell in their right mind went hiking in the middle of freaking summer a week before the regional, oh right, Fuji-senpai did) and had to take a week rest from training.

He didn't have anything to kill time with. So he decided to kill us instead. It was a week of hell, and I mean it literally.

Hmm, maybe I should ask buchou to join me because we'd need all the help we can get. Saru-sama could play the sponsor or something. If anything went wrong and Fuji-senpai decided to get back at us, we could just push everything on to him; I don't think buchou would mind that much.

So anyway, counting back to why I had this sudden homicidal urge to kill him again: Fuji-senpai offered to be my warming-up partner, which was weird and unusual but fine, it was the way that he called me was not. I was feeling just a little disoriented and moody.

So naturally, I snapped.

"_Stop it with the "-chan" thingy. I'm not a girl."_

I was being rude and I really should've though about my mortal wellbeing before I yap away. But Fuji-senpai just giggled—yes people, _giggle_—and made a weird hand motion.

"_Tee hee, I know. Of course I know! But you're still cute enough. I like cute things, you know."_

He winked. And for a moment, I could only blink.

I think he just made a pass on me.

Contrary to the belief that my being thicker than Momo-senpai (which was offending, by the way), I didn't miss it when someone was hitting on me (Fuji-senpai wasn't so much hitting as punching with that one, really).

I wasn't completely clueless, by the way. I probably knew more about sex and creating babies than anyone else in the damn school; why would I miss something like that?

Guys talked me up all the time and older men tried to feel me up and under, something that worried my mom pretty much though oyaji got the kick of it (because he thought it was hilarious that I took up the role of blushing maiden or something equally perverted, that old bastard). As long as they didn't take up on the raping me in locked broom closets, I'd learned to let the world bypass me.

Just because I just didn't do kiss and tell, it didn't mean that I was a clueless, innocent little virgin (the virgin part was a questionable aspect, but the rest, not so and I'd kill someone if I heard the word little again).

I simply thought that crushing Kikumaru-senpai's delusions about my spotless innocence would be too inconvenient since he would probably cry his eyes out. Then, Oishi-senpai would know because Kikumaru-senpai knew. Oishi-senpai would probably panicked for a few weeks and then attempt to give me the _talk_, you know, the birds and the bees and the fuck why they called it that never failed to amaze me.

I'd poke my eyes with chopstick and hang myself when that happened. It was _Oishi-senpai,_ that was just sooo wrong.

Fuji-senpai wasn't exactly the most subtle flirt by far, but the fact that it was _Fuji-senpai_ freaked me. You know, like when someone poked you in the nose with catnip when you were not feeling catty, which was _never_ on a normal human being like me? Yeah, that kind of feeling.

"_It'd be easier if you were though…"_

My brain kind of stuttered and stopped for two seconds. I didn't think he meant for me to hear it, but I sort of did anyway.

If I were _what?_

It took me ten seconds to put it together. Now usually, I was decent at math. Two and two was grade school, but this was a little bit more complicated than that. Or at least, like Trigonometry. Fucking senseless.

Then it hit me like a Scud Drive on the face (and it kinda dent my precious teeth in somewhat).

He _was_ hitting on me. I knew that Fuji-senpai had some kind of attention on me and he often stared at me until I felt like doing something stupid like bouncing on my head or something just to feel less awkward.

But he had just _looked._ He never touched.

I thought it was just concern. Curiosity.

I thought he was straight.

Was he in a phase where he wanted to try it out with guys or something? Hormones? Hormones made us do the crazies. I'd know—I did a lot of things because of that. Like, agreeing to move back with my old man and all that shit. The only good thing that came from there was Seigaku (and that was even questionable sometimes when Inui-senpai was forcing toxic waste down our delicate throats).

So being the in-a-way-socially impaired people that we were, we said nothing. We worked in a relatively calm, awkward as hell but calm. Usually, that was good and all, but somehow I'd rather be somewhere else, with anyone else at the time.

Momo-senpai and Kaidou-senpai looked as if they were about to bite each other's head off and Kikumaru-senpai looked as if he was about to have a nervous breakdown and cry or both because Inui-senpai was looking at him like he was thinking of ways to slip some new, mysterious concoctions in his water bottle.

I'd change with them if I just could get out of this vaguely sexual harassment situation with Fuji-senpai, but apparently, except for Inui-senpai and buchou—and me—no one was willing to partner up with Fuji-senpai (even Inui-senpai mentioned that pairing with Fuji-senpai didn't give him any new data to help improve his Penal Tea).

I'm not saying that Fuji-senpai was evil, he was just—well, okay. So he was kinda evil. But he wasn't so bad. I'd seen worse. Everyone knew that. Yes, by everyone I mean even buchou and Inui-senpai. So when Fuji-senpai decided that he wanted _me,_ no one would try to say otherwise. They seemed happy to leave him to _me._

Cowards; I was younger than them. I felt so betrayed by my senior figures that it fucked up with my impressionable youth.

I thought that Fuji-senpai was just being Fuji-senpai and he was screwing around with my head so I didn't think much. And guess what, _huge mistake._ I mean, I wasn't a stupid kid—not by far, I knew I got my mom's brain because there was no way I got oyaji's—but I guess I _was_ a little thick headed back then.

And really, I should've given my instinct a little more credit. Which was to run away, as far as physically possible.

He was straight. He was hitting on me, a boy. Then, he held some sort of ambition that I was a _girl._

Wow, he was more fucked up than I thought. Or maybe it was just me. I was never one to give a flying fuck about someone being gay, straight or even bi. I mean, sex was still sex, right? I mean, when you feel good, then who the fuck cares.

I think I was violated. No? Yes. Fuck, yes. I was.

He was sexually harassing me. Not obviously, but you just knew these things when it happened.

Fuji-senpai touched (read my lips: _groped)_ me a lot more than never. And I let him. Why wouldn't I? I allowed _Kikumaru-senpai._ Fuji-senpai wasn't half as bad (he didn't try to cut off my air or anything). Though his intentions might be a little more sordid than Kikumaru-senpai's could ever be, but whatever.

I liked to think that I had a pretty good judgement of people. Sensible. Sort of. Mom did. But then, look at who she ended up marrying. I kind of got it from here.

Fuji-senpai looked at buchou with obvious respect and understanding. If Fuji-senpai ever did turn out gay, I think he might be all over buchou (but as you can guess, it didn't happen that way). He looked at saru-sama with dislike, maybe a little bit of begrudging acknowledgement and the sentiment was… reciprocated.

The way he looked at his brother was, uh interesting.

On me, it was… hard to say. I wasn't so good in Japanese to put a name to it, but if you have a name for curiosity, confusion, denial and misguided fondness, call me. No, really. Like call me. Or just leave a voicemail, whatever. He looked like he couldn't understand me (hah!) and himself for trying to anyway.

I didn't know what brought on this sudden change in our so-called relationship, if there was any. I didn't push it away either. I was good at pushing people away when they tried to come close, but I could never really push them away when they did come close.

**- x – x – x –**

A week later, I found him and some girl from third year getting frisky at a deserted corner in the library during after-hour duty, hand under the skirt and all that. I raised an eyebrow and stared for a grand five seconds before turning to put away some books some irresponsible seniors left after an evening of cramming fest for exams.

I wasn't surprised. Perhaps it was because I was cool-as-fish (again, their words not mine and that sounded just stupid) or it was my lacking adrenalin (no, I don't care even if adrenalin had nothing to do with my late-reacting nerves). I just thought that Fuji-senpai had more sense than that. Honestly, the school library? That was cliché to the max, worse than buchou's decision to date saru no taichou.

I don't really give a damn even if someone saw them. I just didn't want to be the one to clean up later (because eww, bodily fluids and eww, it was Fuji-senpai's).

After that, rumours had it that Fuji-senpai had girlfriends. As in, girlfriend_s._ I didn't even know how to start emphasizing the 's' without going about being overly excessive rather than more than one.

…

_Okay,_ so more than several. Some two dozen with extras didn't even start to cover it. He had one and then another after fifteen minutes recess. Sometimes, he had two or even three at one-go.

Not one of his relationships was long enough for people to remember faces. He went through them faster than Kawamura-senpai went through rackets (and Inui-senpai through lab victims put together). I think his record was three weeks. He looked like he was trying out for a Guinness World Record or something.

The boys kept raving about how lucky Fuji-senpai was. Every one of his girlfriends had been (their words not mine) _fucking hot._

Buchou and Inui-senpai thought it was best to leave him alone and sort it out by himself. Oishi-senpai just fretted and Kikumaru-senpai found it strange how his relationships ended without anyone knowing what or why when because it seemed to be pretty serious when it started.

The girls always left him furious and broken-hearted before the break-up came swift and painful. No one really expected that coming from Fuji-senpai. He was, uh _genteel._

When it started, it exploded. Not in a good way. Then again, it was a gossip community—everything tended to be overblown in focus and out-of-proportion. There were so many versions of childhood trauma to unrequited love to simply being loose with women.

It died down eventually, but Fuji-senpai seemed to have assumed some kind of bachelor playboy mansion throne and the guys paid their due respect. And of course, the girls—lines of them, from here to the next neighbourhood, because Fuji-senpai had a nice face and a nice voice and a nice everything.

I wasn't too overly close to him so I didn't mind. It wasn't my business.

…

But gee. Personally, I have always thought that he was _gay._

* * *

**- x – x – x –**

_I always thought that Fuji-senpai was… strong._

_Until I found out that he was more "smart" than "strong."_

**- x – x – x –**

… _Turns out, he wasn't so smart after all._

* * *

Seven years later found one Echizen Ryoma tossing in his bed, attempting to block out the sound of the world, or mostly, the front door's buzzer. Not five minutes ago, some bastard had the gall to ring him at—_what, it was fucking two in the morning_—and had him awake, but he refused to leave the warmth of his bed.

So, cursing the world into the preferable next week, he groaned and buried his head further into his pillow.

It was _fucking two_ in the morning and he had all the right in the world to ignore whoever it was banging on his door. They could've had the decency to wait another four hours or eight if they wanted something.

Yet, the bastard outside was persistent as hell.

Not wanting to risk the neighbours, especially Sugayama-baba next door, yelling his ears off the next morning and leaving a lasting buzz in his head for the next three days, he begrudgingly slid out of bed.

Grunting with irritation, he tossed his blanket aside and stomped to the door. Damn low blood pressure, they always made him crankier than usual.

Nearly tearing the door from its hinge, Ryoma put on his best glare at his late-night, uninvited offender and snapped, "What!"

It was a muscled, dark-skinned looking young man with short, spiked blond hair and pierced ears. He was wearing a sheepish, apologetic look. He shot a look at the sloppy form slung around his shoulders and Ryoma followed his gaze.

Fuji was barely standing, out drunk, even with Mitani supporting his weight.

Mitani, as he remembered the bleached blond, dark-skinned man that was a part of Fuji's circle of somewhat close friends, had the decency to flush. Apparently, this was somehow his fault (or Ryoma just had that uncanny ability to make people feel like that), or at least a part of it.

Although, even in his half-asleep state, Ryoma still thought that Mitani's reddening face was out of place. He wasn't exactly properly dressed to come out of a bedroom and was somewhat popular at campus, but it didn't warrant anything for straight guys.

His face was half-delicate, not exactly girlish but still pretty, even if his attitude left people wanting to strangle him or just break down and cry. He wasn't so flighty as he was moody and had a face full of complaints and temper friction issues. The girls at campus cooed over his manga-like look and squealed that he was a perfect tsundere bishounen (girls, and their obsession for troubled pretty boys).

Ryoma narrowed his eyes, blurry and unfocussed from sleepiness and the lack of lighting, but his glare turned hardened when he saw the dead weight slung over Mitani's neck. He didn't even look at Mitani when he said, "Why couldn't you just dump him on the street and let me have a decent night sleep? The police's gonna return him in two days anyway."

It was kind of heartless, even for his standard.

Mitani winced but decided to play it smart and didn't comment. Instead, he looked down and settled on trying to be invisible. He glanced and might have gulped a little when he caught glimpse of the thin waist and pale flesh exposed by Ryoma's low riding track pants.

Mitani was sure that he strictly liked girls (pretty girls with cute face and F-cup, hell, he was a normal guy) and didn't have the slightest bit interest in experimenting because the idea just came off to him as weird, even if he could deal with homosexual friends as long as they didn't come on him.

But Echizen Ryoma was just above all that.

Ryoma leaned his right forearm against the door panel, placing the other hand on his hips, and raised an eyebrow as if waiting for an explanation. Something about the way he looked that made Mitani think he was compelled to explain, and maybe just be a little more careful about what he said, lest it got Fuji into trouble. Because no one at campus was really sure about what went on between the two of them anyway.

Mitani coughed awkwardly and lowered his head. "Actually, me and the others kinda dragged him earlier and uh, forced some down on him, since it was Saegusa's birthday and all. I-I really told the others to go easy on him, but uh they didn't and we didn't think that he'd become like this and, uh… umm… well, you see…" He stammered, thinking feeling like he should've prepared something before; write it down on his palm or something.

At least, now he knew why the others disappeared so quickly when someone asked who would be taking Fuji home.

If anything, Echizen Ryoma was known for his steam-train-like temper. Mitani was not about to test the truth of that rumour, ignoring the fact that Ryoma was small for someone his age (he heard you say that and it would be your head rolling off). He was at least a head shorter than Mitani, but the way he glared made him seem just _bigger._

Ryoma didn't really care how Fuji ended up like that more than the fact that he was the one who had to pick-up the messes after. Ryoma thought he should just dump ice water on him or something and slam the door to his face.

"Oi, snap out of it! Fuji!" He snapped, grabbing and shaking Fuji's head with his hands and startling Mitani. "Drag your sorry ass inside yourself or freeze to death for all I care. On second thought, just stay here and freeze."

Fuji mumbled and slurred something in return and Ryoma rolled his eyes. He grabbed Fuji by the collar and nodded curtly to Mitani before he started to literally _haul_ Fuji inside, smirking slightly when Fuji bumped his nose on the panel and whined in pain.

Mitani stared, wanting to help and at the same time, wanting to excuse himself before the younger man snap or something equally terrible. He opened his mouth, but Ryoma saved him from making a choice as he muttered a curt doumo and slammed the door to his face.

Well, that was that.

When they said that Echizen Ryoma was one _icy bitch,_ they weren't bluffing.

Mitani stood in front of the closed door for a minute, wincing when he heard Fuji throwing up, followed by a loud bang. It sounded worrying, because Mitani really didn't want to think about what Echizen would do to Fuji for that move.

Maybe he should knock and check, but then he thought the better when he remembered the glare Echizen shot him earlier.

As Mitani walked down the last flight of stairs, he faintly wondered how did those two ended up rooming together. They were polar opposites and Echizen wasn't exactly Mr. Sunshine around Fuji either. Everyone knew and talked about how they had a history together, but no one really knew for sure how Fuji ended up living together with the resident Alaskan Queen.

There were rumours about their relationship, from version A to Z-part-two and sequel, which wasn't so weird because Fuji popular with tons of friends and girlfriends in his directory, while Echizen was a loner who refused to socialize like a normal human being.

It didn't make sense: a playboy like Fuji having something or anything scandalous with another male, especially someone like Echizen Ryoma.

Well, it hadn't been so bad in front of them like it was behind. It took only one glare (that promised painful, painful things) from a certain bad-tempered Echizen to keep them out of his life. Fuji's reputation wasn't exactly saintly either.

Not his business anyway.

Shrugging, Mitani took out his car key and decided to get home as soon as possible for a quick hot bath and make do the last four hours for some much needed some sleep. He had a hangover to deal with tomorrow.

**- x – x – x –**

Ryoma dumped Fuji on the couch and tapped his foot impatiently. Considering that the brunet was considerably taller and heavier than him, it took quite an effort too.

Bending slightly over his former senpai's dismal form, the smell of beer and intense floral perfume made him frown.

This was something that became a routine after the first ten times. Just two years ago, he'd have dumped Fuji on the hallway and hit back to the sacks. But annoying and bothersome as it was, he couldn't bring himself to ignore it. He was becoming too accustomed with this pattern and sometimes wondered if things would still be the same without it.

That might be a good thing, but still a new thing all over again and Ryoma was never good with new things.

Sighing, he unbuttoned the first three buttons of the Fuji's blue shirt and loosened anything that might be restricting, cuffs to belt.

Gathering his coat and shawl—scowling at that indefinable stain that was going to be a bitch to remove—Ryoma went to the kitchen adjacent to the living room and dumped the clothes into the laundry hamper.

He took out a basin and handtowels from the kitchen cabinet and placed it on the counter. He ignored the pained groans from the general direction of the living room as he made a mug of warm rosemary tea, adding honey ginger and lemon. He contemplated adding arsenic, but then thought about the troubles he had to go through to hide the body and decided that it just wasn't worth it.

Then, he took out the first aid box he kept in the lower left shelf.

When he walked back to the living room, he found Fuji vomiting on the floor, knocking his forehead against the small coffee table and sending some of the things on top of it to the floor. Ryoma's only consolation was that it would bruise pretty nasty in a few days.

He darkly thought that Fuji had better started praying to whatever god he believed in that Ryoma owed him someone's life in the past life, and he better pay for the carpet's dry cleaning.

Ryoma sighed, tucking the basin under Fuji's face and waited until he stopped. He didn't try to make Fuji any more comfortable but he still gathered Fuji's hair and pulled them back from his face until the older man slumped back against the sofa.

Ryoma used a wet tissue to wipe the fair face half-covered in perspiration and sick before heading back to the kitchen to fetch his mop. He wondered if he should just dump the content of the mop bucket on Fuji rather than dragging him under the cold shower, before he suddenly remembered that he'd be ruining that sofa—the cleaning fee would cost his leg—and he _still_ had to clean it up afterward.

So much for his evil plans.

Fifteen minutes later, Ryoma was forcing the rosemary tea down Fuji's throat. Fuji was whining and struggling and Ryoma promised himself to hide the hangover pills and the likes just to be mean.

Ryoma took out a bottle of disinfectant from the first aid box and uncorked the cap. He picked a cotton bud, dipped the tip and pulled on Fuji's left arm; revealing scrapes and chafed skin on the elbow and forearm where Fuji had scrapped and knocked against rough surfaces.

He cleaned the wound and rubbed some salve on it, earning him a few soft groans. He suddenly felt the surge of malicious streak and was tempted to make it _really_ hurt, but decided against it in the end.

Three minutes later, Fuji passed out comfortably on the couch, sleeping in odd angles that would make his muscles sore the next morning. Ryoma wouldn't fix that. The guy deserved it.

Sighing again, Ryoma walked back to the kitchen and placed the mug on the sink before taking out a comforter from the shelf and some change clothes that he had just taken down from the hangar. Draping the comforter over the back of the couch, Ryoma started to unbutton Fuji's shirt to change his clothes.

Suddenly, he was pulled down by the wrists. Ryoma stumbled forward and ended up sprawling on top of Fuji. The blanket slid from its place and the spare clothes were crumpled between them.

Ryoma blinked, finding himself straddling Fuji's lap. Cold, familiar hands held his hips, stroking flesh under the shirt. Dry, chapped lips were pressed against his own, then a tongue. Ryoma tasted alcohol and rosemary tea in the kiss.

He wasn't surprised. It wasn't the first time it happened.

Their mouths pulled away, a string of saliva connecting glistening flesh, and Fuji proceeded to attack Ryoma's neck. Ryoma tried to squirm away, but Fuji was persistent. He flipped their body so that Ryoma was the one pinned underneath. The younger closed his eyes in annoyance and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Fuji…" Ryoma tried, raising a hand to push his stubborn bangs up and aside, only to find the older man catching his wrist and holding it above his head; so tight that it _hurt._

Ryoma winced. "Stop it. I'll get angry."

Fuji didn't. He clawed at Ryoma's oversized shirt and tried to pull it over his head, struggling as if the task was something with surgical complexity.

"Fuji." Ryoma repeated, but didn't really do anything to stop him. He could never really say no to Fuji after all (which he never knew the fuck why, because he didn't even _like_ him). Just like when he forced himself back into Ryoma's life and acted as if he had any right or say in it. "I mean it. I'm not in the mood. You're heavy."

_And you smell like woman's perfume._

"You're never in the mood…" Fuji's sad, slurred reply was nothing but harsh, brutal truth.

It wasn't like they were lovers. There was no lost love, hidden longings, or anything like that between them. What was there had been hurried awkwardness. Ryoma didn't know what to do with Fuji. Kissing, touching, sex—they got terribly used to it all.

Ryoma didn't want that, but he'd never thought that he'd found Fuji to be so helpless, to be so cute, so vulnerable… so…

_Pitiful. Adorable, but pitiful._

And he was helpless to deny him.

It was almost _sad_ what the tensai had been reduced to. Fuji brought in onto himself, but the younger boy still felt like it was such a waste.

There was something unattractive about Fuji's sudden change, but Ryoma was being uncharacteristically nosy. He wanted to leave Fuji as it was, before things got complicated, but he just couldn't. Not when Fuji looked at him _like that,_ like he needed him or something, as if they were still in middle school and carefree and careless, as if he would cry and break down if Ryoma left again.

With the comforter spread between them and the cold floor, they moved in a sensual, rough pace in the middle of the living room. Not loving, but it was still sex all the same.

It was four in the morning when Ryoma came to from his falling asleep and got enough strength to push Fuji's limp body off his own. Fuji's soft snore indicated that he was dead to the world. As usual, he was even more vigorous when drunk. Ryoma mentally cursed him with every single vulgar word he knew when a dull throb shot down his spine, which was a lot.

Ryoma cradled his chin and studied the sleeping Fuji, face blank and distant. The telling pain around his lower back told Ryoma that Fuji torn some tissue inside again. He didn't prepare him after all and he wasn't exactly warm and loving when he got that much into it.

Fuji was… attractive, there was no denying (he was not one for denials, that was Fuji's department). He was tall and slender for a man, but not thin like Ryoma. Fuji always smelled nice and had a good face (Ryoma could always appreciate his nose, his lips, his cheeks, just not his eyes), proportionally toned arms and legs, long body, and very skilful mouth and beautiful fingers. Sleeping with him wasn't a black concept anywhere anytime.

But, at the same time, he wasn't Ryoma's type. Ryoma knew his type very well. Fuji certainly wasn't and was not going to be anytime soon.

Fuji was simply too… _happy_, too pretentious, too gentlemanly, too loose with women. Straight (something about Ryoma and straight men just didn't get on that swell). And pathetic.

_Fuji-senpai was not so smart after all._

* * *

**End Note: **I hope that you guys can bump me another review anyway?


	2. The Worst Guy

**MIZERABLE**

_Written by Playgirl Eugene_

**Author's Note :** Fell in love with a glasses-wearing Ryoma! Check out the New Prince of Tennis. He's sooo hot! I fell in love with him all over again! Hyaaa! Hmm, this story is just a whim. As usual, I'll be putting a lot of heart-wrenching dilemma and twisted, sick relationship between Fuji and Ryoma. I like the two fluffy and all, but I'm not capable of writing it without being weirded out. So I'll stick to the slightly crazy Fuji and the prissy Ryoma. This story is about drama, sex, angst, and more drama (with more sex)!

**Standard Disclaimer :** The Prince of Tennis and all of the characters, including the original plot and situations, is created and owned by Konomi Takeshi-sensei. I own nothing of it and I do not earn profit of any kind from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This disclaimer stands firm for the whole of the story. Furthermore, if I use any material that needs to be disclaimed, there will be individual credit where due.

**Summary :** Between them, there's always a fine line. But even then, does it matter anyway?

**Rating :** M/NC – 18/R

**Warning(s) :** Slash/yaoi/male x male, cussing, sexual situations/acts, dub-consensual. If any of the aforementioned warnings offends you, I suggest you turn back now. I will not appreciate anyone flaming me just because they didn't read this.

**Setting and Timeline :** Following most of the canon storyline with modifications and progressed seven years from the end of season one. Characters are, therefore, to be adjusted seven years older with physical and mentality maturity and changes.

**Character Setting :** Fuji/Ryoma, Fuji/OC, OC/Ryoma, others for later

**Chapter Details :** None in particular.

* * *

Chapter 01

"_You're the worst."_

* * *

When Fuji did wake up the next morning, he woke up with a throbbing head. The rather vile, almost familiar aftertaste of hangover was coming down on him quite mercilessly. Again, he swore never to touch another drink in his life – knowing fully that he'd break it again that very weekend.

Forcing himself to sit up and shook his head. It took him a full minute to realize that he was naked and his body felt heavy and deliciously sated, though sore.

He tried to recall what happened last night.

After class, Mitani and the others had dragged him off to a restaurant somewhere in the middle of the city to celebrate Saegusa's birthday with some wild drinking party. There were some girls too and he believed that one of them – the rather pretty and flirtatious dark haired one whose name he didn't catch – was about to score him a night.

Obviously, that part didn't happen. He was at his own apartment, and there was a distinct lack of scattered clothes and body warmth beside him. He was not even on a bed.

Fuji groaned again, though this time it had nothing to do with his headache and buried his face into his sweaty palms.

He was aware that he was going to get another week of cold shoulders – _arctic,_ more likely – from Ryoma. It would be all glares and deliberate ignorance. He'd be lucky if Ryoma didn't take his spare key and decided to lock him out like what happened last year when he went a step too far and brought a girl home.

It was always like that every time he returned drunk. Ryoma would clean him up and somehow they would ended up rolling in bed – his or Ryoma's, or on the floor, or in the kitchen, or whatever flat surface they could find, horizontal and otherwise – then they would proceed to have sex.

The sex had always been terribly good, explosive even. It didn't matter that half of it was but blurred memories to him. All he remembered was the intense tightness, sensational heat, and _Ryoma._ For someone so cold, Ryoma had a pretty lewd body.

But contrary to the passionate night, the morning after was never pleasant. As good as he made Fuji feel in bed, Fuji would wake alone and cold. Even though his clothes were taken care of and his breakfast was prepared for, he never wake up quick enough to find Ryoma around. It made him feel lonely.

Fuji sighed. He consoled himself; at least his friends had enough sense to drag him home last night instead of telling his roommate to pick him up. Who knew where he'd have been dumped otherwise.

Ryoma wasn't heartless. He was a little ill-tempered, moody, unpredictable, and aloof, but not actually indifferent when it concerned Fuji. It had yet to happen, but Fuji wasn't taking any chances. A sleepy Ryoma was an unhappy Ryoma and god knew what he was capable of when he was unhappy.

Despite feeling disoriented, Fuji stood, swayed, and stumbled into the kitchen. And there it was, his breakfast. Seeing how it was done, he knew that the one who prepared it was definitely, _extremely_ displeased. At least, Ryoma's mood hadn't been so foul that Fuji had to resort to canteen lunch sets, supermarket bentou, and junk foods for days to come.

It was a proper Japanese breakfast as always. Ryoma never seemed like he'd eat anything else. But Fuji wasn't complaining; Ryoma was a damn good cook. There was a bowl of rice and miso soup, grilled salted fish, poached eggs, radish pickles, sour plums, natto, and seasoned seaweeds. Sitting down, he picked up his chopstick and started eating.

Sitting near him was a thermos of warm tea, a mug, and some medicine – hangover pills and aspiring obviously – and underneath the mug was a slipped note.

_You're paying for the carpet's laundry._

Fuji had to laugh. That was so Ryoma. At least it didn't tell him to be gone. Fuji took and opened the cap, pouring the warm tea on the mug. It was Ryoma's favourite mug: a cute baby blue colour with rabbit pattern. Fuji was almost amused. It was hard to believe that there would be anything _cute_ in this home managed by one Echizen Ryoma.

Raking his eyes over the spotless kitchen, Fuji allowed himself to feel amazed again. Ryoma had been so particular about the cleanliness of the apartment they shared. Fuji had never seen a speck of dust in the two years they had lived together. He never let Fuji do the cleaning; he would rather do it himself. He was immaculate, keeping the amount of things they had at minimum.

Fuji almost felt like he was living with a very neat woman. God helped him if Ryoma ever heard it. It was bad enough that the guys at campus nicknamed him with some overly effeminate nicknames. Ryoma didn't need it from his own roommate; especially one who he could well kick out on whim.

But even when Fuji spent the nights at his girlfriends' places before – mostly because they either had a fight or Ryoma suddenly didn't feel like looking at Fuji's face and glared at him until Fuji caught the hint and disappear for a few days so he could have some 'space' _without_ Fuji in it – he had to admit that Ryoma's place had been the most comfortable; from the furniture selection to the arrangement and colours.

It was a decent 2ldk apartment in Naka-Okachimachi. The kitchen was warm and homely, while the utensils and dishes were always a set, clean, and organized. The dining room was separated by a fusuma door from the raised the living room of six tatami, four shoji with yukimi and steps, three section tokonama, and a table.

This place smelled like Ryoma.

_Ryoma._

That name felt so familiar yet so far. Ryoma was like the water; calm, deep, and constantly shifting, sometimes violent – and Fuji was drifting on it. Ironically, that volatile temper was the only constant in his shaky life.

How did they like this? He didn't know. Perhaps, like Ryoma always said, it was all _his_ fault.

* * *

Seven years ago, everyone thought that Echizen Ryoma, the super rookie, would go professional after he finished high school to follow his father's footstep and perhaps, accomplish more. All that knew him – his game, his passion for the game, his ambition – had anticipated it. Everyone thought that it would be done like always, _full of_ _style._

Unlike me, in and outside the court, Ryoma was not that much different – confident, calm, and more often than not, highly overbearing.

What we didn't expect was the sudden breaking news of his disappearance after winning the Wimbledon, just a little after our graduation. Following in his father's footsteps, unfortunately in every literal detail, he vanished.

No explanation, no nothing. It wasn't hard to guess that many were disappointed.

Tezuka, Sanada. Yukimura, the Child of God. Even His Royal Highness Atobe Keigo was royally pissed.

Each had gone against him inside the court. They knew him, challenged him, moulded him, and had gained his attention – reluctant respect, cool disdain, or devoted admiration either way – no matter how he might have acted otherwise. He thought of them as strong and Ryoma was still someone who they thought worthy.

Ryoma.

_I like saying his name._

His name was pleasant. I didn't know when _Echizen-kun_ became _Ryoma_. It just happened naturally, I supposed. During the period when I tried to lessen the formality between us none too subtly, Ryoma had gradually perfected his infamous death glares by training them on me on a regular basis. By the end of the fifth month, his glare would've brought Tezuka to tears of pride.

When I realized that, I wondered what it was about his name that I liked. Was it how right it sounded rolling off my tongue? Or was it because that name reminded me of something; something that told me I was not who I seemed to be and so was Ryoma. At the same time, that name reminded me of the free, easy-going past where we all were just brats playing around. The very past _he,_ Ryoma, told me to let go; the past he spoke of in past tenses.

He told me _that Ryoma_ had grown up. But I still held on to the memory like a child would his favourite toy. I was just trying to make sure that he was real and not just a figment of my childhood imagination. I was trying to convince myself that I knew Echizen Ryoma, that he had been real in my life at some point.

After he went back to America, I thought _this was it._ He had decided on something that big on his own. I guessed that he was serious after all. Mentally, Ryoma had never been so much as a child as he was a very young adult.

Everything between us – us in which consisted of me and the rest of team – was left to the hand of history. Ryoma was never a sociable person to begin with. We could expect very few e-mails, less phone calls, and _no_ letter. No one could've imagined Ryoma writing a letter out of all the things he could've done.

I just never thought that, one typical day, I'd just bump into him while walking down a rather noisy corridor on my way to the cafeteria at my university.

"_Fuji-senpai?"_

He seemed surprised. I was too. Ryoma changed.

I'd seen how people changed as I graduated.

Girls usually grew up faster, so there weren't too many changes in them that most would've noticed. Some people, like Eiji for example, could never really grow up. On the other hand, Tezuka, Oishi, and Taka-san simply grew in age and nothing else, as they were _old people_ to begin with. Inui didn't even _age_. It was rather _bizarre._ At least Kaidou and Momo-chan grew up like any other teen would. I supposed I was somewhere in between, like I've always been.

Anyway, Ryoma did. He was a little taller although still rather slight for a boy his age, a hereditary thing perhaps. His hair was longer and his face slimmed. The once boyish features had matured, leaving behind a set of replacement: delicate bones, fuller lips, elegant nose. He had grown, no longer a boy in puberty but not yet a man.

The most noticeable were his eyes. He had taken to wear glasses – surprising really considering that his eyesight was on par with Eiji's – and his gaze had considerably mellowed, more jaded, sad.

I later found out that he was in law major. I had heard her mother was a famous attorney. Did everything in his family always run for the extreme to the kids? Apparently, Ryoma had been studying law at some fancy university in America; he was one of the top students even. So what would he be doing in this place?

I was the only one from my year who ended up in Todai. Tezuka went to German to study heart-surgery, Oishi went to Kyoto to study medicine, while Inui became a P.E teacher and had his share of fun terrorizing his unsuspecting students. Taka-san and Eiji decided to quit school altogether when they graduated. Taka-san inherited his family's sushi shop while Eiji went to live with Oishi. We all went our separate ways. To think, I would be the one to stumble upon this sneaky kitten.

He didn't speak a lot, like before. Yet, it wasn't quite the same.

This Ryoma was too quiet.

Even though we had certain _history_ together, I never seemed to be close enough with him to make people see that. Even I sometimes wondered if this Ryoma was the same as the one back then. Did I even know him? Did he me? Sometimes, I entertained a thought if some faceless strangers, pieces of my imagination, would know him better than _me_.

It made me curious. So curious that soon, I found myself following him around. I knew he was annoyed by it. I asked or rather _persuaded_ him to let me into his apartment, resorting to various techniques in the book before he finally gave in.

The moment I stepped into the apartment, I learned that, like Ryoma himself, it was empty and immaculate. It made everyone felt like an outsider. How appropriate.

As I snooped around, I found some note that belonged to Ryoma. His handwritings were surprisingly neat as well, all sharp and slightly curved letters. All of his notes were clean and very easy to read. There were small, complementary notes here and there. The lecturer's board was nothing like that. I was half-expecting some half-hearted scrawls because he was the type to never really pay any attention in class.

He didn't speak much; like he was politely ignoring me as he waited for me to take the hint and scram. I saw the hint, but didn't really take it. I _enjoyed_ seeing him distressed. And no, I was not being a sadist. He simply looked cute was all.

It was an overlapping silence after that, until he accepted a phone call. He glanced at the caller's identity and rolled his eyes exasperatedly before taking it.

"_How many times do I have to tell you that we're over?"_

I was surprised. I never knew Ryoma could speak so coldly even though his voice had yet to raise another notch. I'd seen how he spoke to Atobe, hot-headed and all. I'd seen how he spoke to Tezuka; filled with pure respect as much as a human could hope from the little brat. It was funny how he looked up so much to Tezuka with near childish reverence. I even suspected that he had a crush on Tezuka though it was never confirmed. When he talked to Eiji or Momo, he'd usually looked bored but he didn't really ignore them. He was wary of some people, resigned to others. I've had seen him in many occasions, addressing people in different ways that blatantly showed his level of like and dislike. Ryoma was a _very honest_ person. I simply assumed that they had had a rough relationship.

Apparently, the other end of the line was stubborn because they started to bicker back and forth. Or rather, the other end was shouting into the phone while Ryoma replied with flat, deadpanned tone.

"_No is no. That's that."_

He abruptly hung up. He had this look on his face that I didn't understand. It wasn't like he was troubled or upset. It was more like he was annoyed and, at the same time, he was not.

"_Is that your girlfriend?"_

I felt curious yet uneasy; the loneliness at the thought of him having a girlfriend alone was strange.

He looked at me calmly and spoke with a neutral tone.

"_No. It was my ex-boyfriend."_

The moment he said the _b-word, _I was surprised – so much that I went still and the notebook slipped from my fingers to the floor. I was someone who was rarely caught off guard. But then again, this was Ryoma.

Ryoma studied my reaction. He smirked, leaning in closer until our faces were only an inch apart. _"Do you find it repulsive, Fuji-senpai?"_ He was brutally honest. And for the first time since I met him again, the familiar glint was back into his eyes.

"_Well, I thought you would."_ He lowered his eyes and the submissive gesture sent small, electric jolts down my spine for some reasons. _"Don't worry. I'm not gonna hit on you or anything."_

But he really did change. No. No, he _grew up._

"_You're kind of cute, Fuji-senpai."_

That sounded wrong – Ryoma and growing up.

"_But you're not my type."_

He even had a boyfriend. I was… a little overwhelmed.

_A boyfriend._

Ryoma had a _boyfriend_. _That_ Ryoma had a _boyfriend._ I didn't know which surprised me more; the fact that Ryoma had had a _boy_friend or the fact that he even had someone.

Then again, everyone noticed how he never paid enough attention to girls back in our school days even though he was quite the stud. But everyone simply thought that Ryoma was just young and oblivious. He had always been slow on delicate subjects, like the matter of a female's heart, for example. Ryoma had the subtlety of a bulldozer, I assure you. But then, after I graduated from middle school, I heard how some girls despised Ryoma for boys often paid unusual amount of unhealthy attention to him.

So Ryoma swung _that_ way. I myself had always been fond of girls. Even my girlfriend then was cute. I thought she was a nice and honest girl, with beautiful dark hair and soft features. Her fingers were delicate; her body was soft and smelled sweet too.

There was this one time when I went to his house and we simply settled on playing strangers that I got the chance to study his profile up-close when he was engrossed in his reading. His confession didn't disgust me like I thought it would if someone else did. It just made me more conscious about his presence, more curious.

Ryoma's almond-shaped eyes were beautifully set on his face, hooded by folds of lids that gave him a delicate, slinky look. His eyelashes were so thick and full, brushing repeatedly against his glasses when he blinked.

His face was attractive, adorable really. His features, though not exactly masculine, were a little too defined to be a female's, with his eyebrows arched and his cheekbones high. The sensual line of his lips was set in a determined, sometimes nasty frown. His body was thin with long legs and arms and there was a glaring _lack_ of feminine attributes.

Ryoma didn't really look like a girl to me, even if he was rather pretty for a boy.

Yet, at that moment, I had this sudden, insane urge to _kiss_ him.

_What would it be like to kiss him?_

The fact that it didn't bother me as much as it should was terrifying.

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

After that, it was all about me forcing myself into his life and everyone else said that I was either very brave or suicidal. They all didn't know one thing – they didn't know the Ryoma _I_ knew. He was still the same, awkward guy who couldn't say 'no' when his buttons were pushed right.

So here I was, taking up the space of at his neat apartment as he went about doing house chores. Usually, I'd just follow him home and wasted time doing nothing as he ignored me almost completely. Sometimes I'd do one-sided conversations, sometimes I took the liberty of going through his books.

He never offered if I want anything to drink. He'd just put a mug of green tea with honey and proceeded to act like I was not there. I noticed that he didn't smoke but he always left an ashtray on the table. When I thought that he did it for me, I couldn't help but feel a little… _happy_ about it. Silly me: it could be someone else's, or Ryoma didn't want me to dirty his tidy little home, but did I ever pay attention to the details? No.

He mostly treated me like I was invisible, like I wasn't there. It wasn't so bad. I couldn't ask for more in case I touched a nerve. He would have this unhappy expression whenever I started to drink though so I refrained from drinking in front of him.

After some times, it became a routine. I could well materialize at his doorway at any hour of my whim. Ryoma wasn't too happy about it, yet he didn't complain much either. When he didn't want to see me, he'd leave a message and when he really didn't want to see me, he'd call me.

Ryoma only called me when he really didn't want to see me. Hmm. Ironic.

And his phone manner really needed some serious trimming. You couldn't just say 'I don't want to see your face today so don't you dare come' the moment someone answered your call and hung up immediately. It was rude and kind of annoying.

Usually, I'd ignore the messages and relented on the calls. I thought he'd burst a vein or two dozen when I once showed up at his doorstep after his first phone call. It was so cute. I was so surprised when I received his call that I instinctively went to look for him. I did give him my number and asked for his. He never seemed to add mine, or intended to, and he only gave up his after I pestered him about it for two weeks.

There was this one time when I spent all Sunday lounging inside his apartment. I smoked as I talked about my most recent break-up.

"Mina-chan and I… we broke up."

I looked at him and waited for a reaction, and finally, he looked up from his laundry for the first time.

"I know."

I was surprised. It was the first time that he had ever said something else other than "so" or "oh" and more often than not, nothing at all. I wondered how he knew though. Considering how he, uh _socialized_, Ryoma didn't seem like the type.

As if he could read my mind, he elaborated. "Ishida told me after Kitayama's class today."

Ishida was one of my more tight-lipped classmates; we hung around sometimes. He was tall and looked pretty good, but very quiet, so the girls thought he was kind of cool. It was surprising that Ishida would share something like that with someone else. But I knew that he had been trying to get close to Ryoma for a while. Ishida had been transparent. I knew he was jealous with whatever I had with Ryoma.

I knew Ryoma preferred batting for the home team. I simply couldn't stomach him being with someone else. I refused to. Which bothered me most – him growing up and drifting away from _me_ or him liking boys that were _not me_ – I was not sure.

I didn't have the right. He was twenty, no longer twelve and in need of a good eye. He was almost an adult, no longer the brat I used to know. But I was stubborn and childish. I kept on comparing him to the younger version of himself.

And then, we went into another silent phase as he went into the kitchen. I gazed at the ceiling and exhaled rings of smoke. "She said that she didn't know what I was thinking," I had gotten used of Ryoma's typical lack of reply it didn't bother me when I received virtually no response. "Said something about not knowing if I really loved her or not… and she was tired of it."

I heard the sound of running water from the kitchen and the faucet being turned off. Ryoma returned with another batch of clean laundry and headed for the hangar room near the veranda.

"She found someone else." I paused, unsure of how to proceed. I was admittedly distracted Ryoma's hanging the laundries. The sight was so normal, so unsuited for him.

"I told her, _that's good I hope you'll be happier with him._ And you know what she did?"

Ryoma surprised me by giving another reply. "She cried?"

I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, one expression Ryoma seemed to be particularly fond of employing. "How did you know that?"

He shrugged. I wouldn't be getting an answer by the looks of it.

That night, I drank at his house. And for the first time, he didn't do anything about it and let me. He didn't try to comfort me and he didn't say anything. He just sat there and pretended like he was listening, if he was pretending at all. I had a suspicion that his mind was somewhere far away. I had to do something about that, but I was drunk and my brain was somewhere up there and refused to come down to let me think properly again.

"… _You're not going to ask me to stay, huh?"_ I muttered quietly; my words muffled by the arm I used to pillow my face.

Ryoma looked away from me. He dumped the empty cans into a disposable plastic bag. I was surprised when I heard him spoke suddenly, although his tone was disinterested. "Is that what she said?"

"Uh-huh. _I've been waiting for you to say it,_ she said. She was crying her eyes out." I continued, gulping down another can of cold beer. "Why would it matter to her though? Didn't she find someone else?"

Sometimes, even I didn't understand them.

_Women_.

"Fuji,"

I looked up: it hadn't been the first time that Ryoma didn't put any attachment to my name. I figured it started somewhere at the beginning of summer that year – or was it in the middle? I found myself that I didn't mind. It sounded somewhat more intimate than _Fuji-senpai._

Ryoma stared at me with a blank look. It was only then I realized how annoying that mask on his face was.

"You're the worst."

I blinked and I laughed.

So much for comforting: Ryoma would get a huge F if it was a test. Trust him to say something like that in this situation. He offered nothing but raw, unedited truth. But then, didn't I come to him because I knew he didn't offer pity and comfort?

"She said that too."

"Hn."

"She and the one before her, and the one before that. And the one before the before one," I laughed though not feeling the slightest bit humorous though a whole lot tipsier than normal. "They all said it. _You're the worst."_

"It's because you are." Ryoma paused as if contemplating something, before he added in a deadpan tone, "_Jerk_."

I laughed again. It felt a lot better already.

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

For almost four months, notifying almost a year of our re-acquaintance, our relationship had not changed. The good thing about it was the fact that it didn't change for the worse because even I couldn't think of what else could be that word than what we had then. The bad thing, it was still as bad as it had been four months ago.

Ryoma rarely expressed himself too freely; although he did get this sour look on his face most of the time he saw me. I dismissed it anyway.

Everything changed one day. It was kind of sudden; like a clap of thunder in the middle of a cloudless day.

Ishida finally dropped the bomb. He asked Ryoma out to a movie. I found out about it accidentally when I was looking for Ryoma at the library. Ryoma was sitting at one corner he seemed to be fond of. I was about to approach him, but Ishida got there faster.

I decided to watch what was going to happen, ignoring that spiteful feeling that was blooming within me. When I saw how Ryoma stared at the ticket Ishida flashed him with a shy smile, I knew that Ryoma was going to reject him and it brought my consciousness vindictive satisfaction.

"_I'm sorry. I've never thought of you in that way."_

Ryoma sounded professional, as if he had practiced this to perfection – from the words to the tone.

"_Can't we give it a chance?"_

Ishida was pleading and desperate.

"… _I'm sorry. I can't."_

It was so simple, so straight. Painful. People would think that he was cruel. But I knew better. Ryoma might not show it and would never admit it if I knew him as well as I thought I did, but he was not a cruel human at heart.

Somehow, I felt compelled. Maybe it was because I eavesdropped on something so private. I pitied Ishida, and yet, there was unreasonable jealousy and vindictiveness that was angry at Ishida for even thinking about it.

Ishida confided to me later over a drink, but I already knew. It felt like I was betraying his trust. Then again, a crueller part of me thought that Ishida deserved it. As I said, Ryoma was never good at saying _no._ Rejecting Ishida it must have put him in a difficult position.

The other reason was because I was jealous, perhaps. There was a part of me that seemed to stake a certain claim on him.

To think that someone else, new and almost a stranger to our history, would be closer to him and put more distance between us made me felt like something was choking me from the inside.

I realized that I was selfish. I couldn't bear the thought of him being together with someone else and leaving me behind again.

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

Ever since the Ishida's incident, I was painfully aware of how possessive I had become over Ryoma. The way I none too subtly hovered over him made people raised their eyebrows at us and wondered about our relationship.

I didn't bother correcting them. Ryoma could care less about it. We weren't exactly the best of match and he wasn't being all that discreet in showing that he didn't really like me that much but he didn't push me away.

I knew that I'd have done something to Ishida had Ryoma not rejected him. Something awful. I also realized that the next time something like that happen, I'd do something drastic.

And it really happened.

There was this girl in from my lecture class. Her name was Tomomi, but everyone called her Tomo-chan. She was sweet and cheerful, almost everyone liked her. She was cute too, with small face dominated by big, doe eyes and dark hair.

After class that Friday, she approached me with a smile on her face.

"_Ne, ne Fuji-kun, do you know if Echizen-kun has a girlfriend?"_

So that was how it was. I flashed a kind smile: a _Judas'_ smile. It was an honest answer. Technically, I knew that he didn't. He _wouldn't._ He didn't have interest in girls.

But Tomo-chan didn't ask that. I didn't feel guilty; I didn't even lie. I merely omitted some part of the truth.

"_He doesn't have one? Yay!"_

I knew that she was a nice girl. Tomo-chan never spoke ill of others, was always helpful. But when I thought about how even _she_ wanted to take Ryoma away from _me_, I could almost hear something in me snapped: either the string of my patience or my sanity. Perhaps, both. Or maybe, it was something else. To me then, she was the enemy like Ishida had been.

I wanted to see how Ryoma rid of her. Ryoma, I noticed, was always more polite and thoughtful to girls. I wanted him to crush that girl's hope himself.

Maybe I was punishing Ryoma for how he treated me, for making this chest tightened so painfully every time he brushed my hand away, every time he refused to look my way. Maybe I was punishing Tomo-chan for thinking that she was good enough for Ryoma. I was being possessive and irrational and cruel.

I was the worst. How _twisted_ I was, I thought with a glee, and how I enjoyed being the bad guy.

I saw Tomo-chan approached Ryoma during break at the cafeteria. They talked a little. Then, I saw Ryoma's eyes widened. His shoulders stiffened slightly and his facial expression shifted slightly, before he regained himself. He looked around and caught my eyes, tossing an accusing, venomous glare at my direction.

Oops, I thought, although it sounded unrepentant even to me. It seemed like I was discovered.

I raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged. His glare intensified.

Well, no matter.

Later in the afternoon, Ryoma approached me; his eyes flaring into life with emotions. He dragged away me by the collar. I knew that we were being the centre of attention and I knew that he was mad; I knew that a mad Echizen was never something good.

I _really_ didn't give a damn.

My heartbeat accelerated and my breathing quickened. Adrenalin and excitement rushed to my head so fast, I felt dizzy and giddy. It was wrong; wrong on so many levels.

"Why did you do that?"

His tawny eyes smouldered with fury. The colour was so precious. It was beautiful to see how the usually cool gaze had become like that.

I feigned ignorance and plastered on a smile that would've fooled even the master conman but still wouldn't work on this boy. Playful, subtle, manipulative, and a little cruel had always been my foremost nature. I was shameless and I was desperate, and I was completely out of my mind. Nothing good ever came out of that combination.

"Why did I do what?"

His glare intensified. "Don't fuck with me, Fuji."

I never heard him curse before; insult and taunt, yes. Curse, no. I was a little surprised, but still very amused. Ryoma looked really cute when he was angry; he would be completely unguarded and then you would see his eyes glower until the flecks of light brown and the ring of gold around his irises stood out prominently.

"You did it on purpose. You know I won't be interested in her and you—! What do you want from me, really?" he hissed. I might have been a little too far this time, but I didn't regret it. "Why can't you just… just _leave me the hell alone? You son of a—"_ He switched to his mother tongue, like he always did when desperate, and I stared at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting and _almost_ daring him to continue. It wasn't a threat as much as it was a challenge.

He stopped suddenly, looking annoyed at both me and himself. Biting on his lower lip, he settled with an exasperated sigh instead. "You really are the worst, Fuji, you know that? Shit, of course you do. You're the _lowest."_

He didn't yell.

It caught me of my guard. He actually dropped it like _that._ His face tight and flushed, his eyes dark, and his lips formed a frown. He looked mad and tired at the same time.

He raised a hand to push his stubborn bangs to the side; I only noticed now that his fingers were long and slim, just like the rest of his body. It was the fingers that used to hold a racket, but now the hands were less calloused. Something told me he hadn't held a racket ever since his disappearance a few years back.

Right. _Why?_

Before me was Echizen Ryoma. Tennis was his life, the blood in his veins. Why did he give up tennis? What changed?

Now, Ryoma was standing here with me. He was wearing baggy winter ensembles; off-white sweater topped by a winter coat with fur-trimmed hood, scarf, a beanie with ears, a pair of denim, and converse shoes. I was tempted to ask if he couldn't stand a little cold but I figured that it was a suicidal move to make.

He looked even _smaller_ dressed in all that.

When I realized that, I couldn't help but also realized that he was so slim, he was almost too thin. The lightly tanned skin I remembered had paled: he looked unhealthy. His eyes seemed too bright and his hair too dark against his face. So delicate.

The fingers that curled around my collar earlier were nimble. His scent was musky and gentle as it assaulted my nostrils. His lips were full and red and _dry._ They were begging to be kissed and moistened.

I was depraved for just thinking about it. But then again, since when was I sane? Since when did any of us for that matter? Had Ryoma ever been? I doubted it.

Dozens of times before, I tried to convince myself that he was not a girl. There was nothing about him that reminded me of a woman, as he would every so often remind me with that brush every time I touched him, with the look in his eyes.

_I am not a woman._

It was left unsaid and hung heavily in the air.

_So don't act like I'm one._

How I wished he was though. It would have been far simpler that way. If only he had been a girl, it wouldn't be like this. _I_ wouldn't be like _this_. I wouldn't have become weird and I wouldn't have felt like a freak. I wouldn't have felt like I'm abnormal. We might even have a normal relationship if he was a girl. But then, he wouldn't be Ryoma. We wouldn't have met.

He would just be another girl, only that she would have been Ryoma had she been born a boy instead: a twisted, reverse logic. I didn't make any sense. I was thinking and talking like I was losing my mind. I suspected that I already had.

_No._

Unlike any other who was charmed and captivated by his magic, I knew better than to let it get to me. Unlike them, I would never fall.

That day, we stumbled into his apartment. He was angry. I followed him as he went into his room. He told me to get out and pushed me towards the door. I pulled his head and kissed him in retaliation as soon as he touched me.

He wasn't expecting it and backed up until he fell back on the futon. The neatly made sheets – where he slept so vulnerably every night, where he might bring his lovers into – creased when he tried to put some distance between us by climbing on the futon and crawled backward, as far away as possible from me. I didn't want to let him go; not when I managed to corner him like this.

I reached and touched his skin. I marvelled at the softness of flesh I felt under my fingertips. Like the rest of him, Ryoma's skin was cool, like a milder shade of sculpted ice compared to his gaze.

His eyes widened and he frowned. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said that he was a little scared. He touched the hand I held against his smooth cheeks.

"Fuji?"

This was a good expression.

"I'm not a girl." Every time I looked at him, he was sure to notice why. He said that so many times, as if he wanted to remind me not to make the wrong move because he wouldn't stop it.

He was not a girl. Everything about him told me, reminded me that he was not.

"I'm aware of that."

I did. I really did.

I confirmed that myself many times over; his sharp eyes, his face, his long limbs, his _male_ body, his voice, his strength – not a girl. But still.

"That's true." I muttered, taking in and drinking his profile like a man denied of water for days to end in the dessert. "But I can still kiss you."

I pushed him down and claimed his mouth. He tasted as innocent as tentative sin. I wanted to ruin that innocence. I wanted to ruin it so badly, it _hurt._

"I can still have sex with you."

What would he do now? What should _I_ do then? What should I do with this insolent, gorgeous brat I had beneath me?

"Fuji, you…"

I looked up to his face.

"You… really are the worst." His sigh was heavy with resignation. His dark, messy hair was tousled and his skin was flushed. Even now, he was so quiet. I was not used to it: girls had always been more vocal. I want to hear him more.

All the girls I've been with had been sweet. They smelled nice, tasted nice too. They mewled, screamed, and begged. Most had been eager, some had been coy, and a few were more dominant than the others. Sex had always been good and everyone went home a winner.

Ryoma did none. Like most of the time I spent at his apartment, talking and drifting, he let me and listened, but did nothing more.

As I sampled his body, as I slowly stripped him, as I moulded myself into him; one thing remained in my fogged brain. Sharp pleasure raked every nerve in my body as my senses were enveloped in a strange, sensual consciousness.

_God,_ in this shenanigan, in this debauchery, I never felt so guilty calling out that name. But _God, God, God. _It was amazing. He was so _wonderful_, so wanton. I could feel him: every bit of him like I've never felt him before – around him, inside him. It burned all of me, sensitizing each senses until they felt raw and numb.

"Ryoma, breathe. It's tight."

_So tight, so warm, so good. Fuck, he feels good._

With the lack of preparation and foreplay, I guessed that it had hurt. I had always heard that it hurt. Girls had the necessary equipments and were able to produce their own lubrication. Their body was adjusted to feel less pain, was meant to be penetrated, and they were bound to feel more pleasure each time.

It wasn't just about the physical. Having some other guy dominating your body and having him penetrate you like this, it must have taken some guts to do it. Giving up the control of your body to someone else and taken like a _woman_, I knew _I_ wouldn't be able to live with it.

Ryoma didn't seem that unfamiliar with this at all. I knew that I wasn't his first; this straining role he took up wasn't unfamiliar to his body. He didn't flinch when I entered him dry. As if he knew how to numb the pain, he simply accepted my intrusion and pushed out to accommodate my size. How did Ryoma endure that, I would never know.

It reminded me a little of that one-time unfinished match in the rain. Now that I thought about it, it was kind of romantic, wasn't it? Standing in the rain, eyes set on one another like no one and nothing else existed mattered, savouring the intense thrill and longing for an even higher ecstasy, trading subtle taunts, knowing smirks, and pure _passion. _I sounded so pathetic and soppy even to my own mental ears.

Now, we were playing a different kind of game: a more adult game, not poetic love but of intricate, twisted emotions, unlike the innocent sensation of a simple tennis game. So much more intensity, more chance shots, such incomparable pleasure, everything was _different._ We were no longer children in a play anymore. It was not inside court, not with someone else to make the call, not a game of hitting a ball. It wasn't cold like that time either.

This was messy, hot, tangled, dirty, wrong.

It was _sex._ When my brain finally processed that I was associating sex with Ryoma – that I was having sex with him – I knew it was too late to stop.

He writhed under me, clenching the sheets, and breathed harshly, as if slowly drowning himself in the sensation of sex. Not a word escaped him but gasps and quiet, breathy moans.

I was no stranger to this endeavour of highest physical sensation. I knew how a man did it with another man; I'd read books about them. Internet was always a wonderful, handy little thing. But to simply know what to do and _how_ to do it was a completely different matter.

He sighed and arched his neck, slowly, sensually. He showed me his erogenous zones and adeptly looked for mine. Logically, since we were both males, we should know. Ryoma definitely knew what he was doing with his tongue and fingers. Definitely. He was aggressive, but not too much. He didn't tease. It was like this was really sex and nothing else.

Sex with Ryoma felt like nothing I've ever before.

It was awkward, a little embarrassing, and strange. Still, sex supposed to feel good no matter what. When he took me into his mouth, I lost grip on reality. Who knew that mouth was so soft, so moist, and so very warm? Who would've thought that he'd be willing?

Ryoma bobbed his head, sliding my shaft in and out – _damn, it felt good_ – as he grasped the base and giving it a harsh squeeze. He licked the head – dipping his mischievous tongue into the slit – blew and engulfed it before he started to suck harshly. I bucked my hips and Ryoma stilled. His eyes flickered up and glared at me.

_What?_

Ryoma lowered his eyes and inhaled me and I couldn't help myself when my dick reached the back of his small throat. God, I wanted to cum.

My situation kind of reminded me of a nervous, virginal boy about to have his first sex with an experienced older woman. Except that it was different all together; neither of us were nervous virgin boy, neither of us were a woman.

"Ryoma…"

Saying that name in this situation felt so sensual, so wrong. It was different from how I usually did so many times before and I knew it would never feel quite the same again.

It was so different when I had sex with women. They were pliant and warm, with smooth curves where I could comfortably laid my hands on. This body I took wasn't as soft. But this exquisite burning he gave to me in return was consuming to a point of agony like a very potent drug.

It was intense, tight, and so filled with a sense of _control._

Ryoma's body was lissom and his skin was now heated and smooth, even someone like _me_ could appreciate his body that was a confusing balance of hard bones and subtle curves, if the molten heat rushing southward to pool in my groin was of any indication.

As we drowned further in this black, seductive sin, I lost myself even more. Ryoma reached and circled his arms around my neck. He pulled me closer and I was surprised when he kissed my neck.

Encouraged, I asked him to call my name as I did his. He didn't.

_Why are you so quiet?_

I had wanted to ask, knowing that I wouldn't get an answer. No matter what I talked about, he would only listen. He didn't react, as if he couldn't. Even just now, he only _listened._

Why wouldn't he talk? What had changed him so much? I wished he'd talk to me.

**

* * *

**

**End Notes:** I… really didn't expect the response to be so good. Yeah, I've learnt how to really write a bit more seriously. Oh, but writing from Fuji's POV was fun and way easier than Ryoma somehow; it just flowed. I hope that he was pretty much in character in this chapter although I wanted to picture him shaken, confused, and the whole whatnot. The reason I'm doing this is because I'm bored of so many dominating Fuji and teary, sensitive Ryoma. So there you have it now, a seme in denial that couldn't help himself and a cold uke who didn't give a damn about pretty much anything. I love this combination. And I, uh… anyway, review please? I am thinking of raising the rating to M, should I?

**_Review Replies_**

**Lonely Rain -** Yes, of course! I'll try to update as soon as possible. Expect a mass updates around next month. Perhaps I'll be putting up the second chapter for this first and my two co-written fics with MoonExpression-chan…

**MARYLOVER -** I only hope that I can keep up with the promising part. I want this story to remain as attractive to you until the end. Thanks a lot!

**Pax Silva -** I have always wanted to explore Fuji who didn't come in term with his sexuality. Usually, it'll be Ryoma who's like that and there'll be nothing special about it if I do it that way. Look out for it and don't forget to reviews! ^ ^

**megamilan -** Thank you for the compliment. I think this answers your question? ^ ^

**Kaoru Sayuri Kamiya -** I'm really glad that you like it. Yes, it is my intention to make him a _little_ OOC to fit the story. I hope it's not too much though.

**Lapis -** I'll try to update as soon as possible.

**crassreine -** Would you believe it if I said that it's because I realized how corny my old stories sounded? I want to redo everything once I have the time; including fixing the typos and grammatical errors. Originally, I'm very good with languages. Name it; I can learn it very fast. But when it comes to grammar, no matter what language, I always had problems. I learnt grammars from reading beta'd stories to learn about it. Because it was done by my own, I think there are still too many mistakes in this story. Can I ask how to change the story without alerting the reader?

In my opinion, Ryoma is flawed in his character. I mean, he's pretty much everything else. I tried to make my stories more realistic, I guess. Although some liked the old and descriptive ones, others liked the new and simpler ones. I guess, I need to mix between the two into a more balanced proportion. Thank God if you think there's no OOCness. I like modifying Fuji and Ryoma's relationship; it's just so dynamic and has never ending possibilities. And I think readers already have enough of perfect Fuji, ne? I don't know about putting them together. It depends on how the story flows, I think. I haven't thought about the ending. It can end tragically, one of them dying or even breaking up, or happily ever after (in my own context. I sucked at fluffs so the ending would be 'happy', just no 'fluffy' kind of happy).

**joster13 -** Actually, I've been dying to try something like this out; sarcastic and pure nonsense. I think Ryoma is supposed to be a little slow, but observant and sarcastic and indifferent. I don't really enjoy a light story, so I tried not to make anything quite as simple. I'm glad you think this story is mature and dark. The OOCness is a must for the story to fit but I can't imagine anyone else in Prince of Tennis that could be shaken mentally the way I did Fuji. In Prince of Tennis, he's easier to crush mentally I think. I like Fuji like this; he seemed human compared to the ethereal Fuji descriptions scattered everywhere. I respect everyone's ideas, but I still want my Fuji to be like this.

**CherryBlossom YingFa -** Uh, yeah. I'm going to continue this. I'm not really good at making one-shots so rest assured that this will be a series.

**-X-Nefertiri-X- -** Of course, and here you go. ^ ^

**truckerhat52 -** Hmm, I'm glad you think that Ryoma's spot on. I had been wondering how to explore Ryoma from this point of view and I'm glad that you like him enough. Tee hee!

**Wuzzgoinon - **Glad to hear from you even in this story. Oh, and don't worry. I've updated both _The Art of Deception_ and _Gakuen Story ~ Sensei Hours_ because plenty of my readers were pestering me for it, in a good way. Remember to review, pretty please?

**JBubbles -** Well, foremost, I appreciate your critic. Now let me reason a bit, because you've read my other stories. My Fuji, in each, are all different because he was easy to experiment and tamper with: a demure, but wicked tensai who could turn out very nice or otherwise. His character hadn't really shown wholly in the canon in my opinion. For me, Fuji is possible to turn out like anything, even this. Being a tensai doesn't mean one can't crumble. In fact, the pressure of being one can lead him astray because he's young and thus capable of having doubts in life. There are many interpretation of Fuji and I like mine as human with faults not as a perfect specimen. Ryoma I tend to describe him worldly beautiful but with flaws on his character. I like to believe we should catch different sides of a character and Fuji being a superficial sadist doesn't cut this story. I like Fuji, as much as I like Ryoma but even more so because he was able to show OOCness from time to time like the original one in the manga (when he went against Shiraishi, etc). Anyway, sorry if it's OOC for you, I guess it's different for each person.

**MoonlessRoad -** Thank you very much. I hope I didn't disappoint you and there's always a reason why I changed someone's characters… though it was more like a 'fault' in a character than completely changing it. Please review?

**darknights -** Thank you! Keep on R&R!

**Kamiyoukai -** Heya, here's the update! Hope you enjoyed it! ^^

**nicki-gurl -** You've always been one of my favourite readers! Well, I have fetish for angst and drama and complexities! I assure you that this will be one hell of a ride! I have surprises after all.

**MaryLover -** Oh, don't worry. The thrill is going to come soon enough, I guarantee that. And again, Fuji is 'weak' not because he was 'weak'. But even a tensai should have his weak points and I'm making _his_ Ryoma.


End file.
